Worthwhile Page 8

  “Bye,” she whispered, but didn’t do anything.

  He closed the door and stepped back. They remained staring at each other through the glass until he mimed a key-turning gesture.

  “Oh.” She giggled slightly and pushed the ignition button. Thankfully her car started this time, but she remembered a year ago when it hadn’t and Drew had been gentleman enough to drive her home.

  The idea of spending forty minutes alone with Drew in his truck excited her, but she also knew it might lead to things she wasn’t ready for. Tonight’s encounter with her past had shown her that she was still very much entrenched in who she’d been in high school.

  She hadn’t moved on, and before she could, she needed to put the past firmly behind her. “I’m not Olivia the Giver,” she said in a furious undertone as she turned onto Flagler Street and headed west.

  It took until Olivia’s tail lights were off into the distance before his erection was under control enough to walk down a street in public. He shook his head and started heading back to OCXA. He was a block from his club when he spotted the two asswipes he’d had evicted for asking Olivia to dance earlier.

  He froze in place. They were the kind of guys to take it personally and would want to reassert their masculinity by kicking the shit out of him. His shit wasn’t so easily kicked, and he’d give as good as he’d get. But he had a business to run and a pretty girl to text. Spending long minutes punching and getting punched weren’t on his agenda tonight.

  “Fuck,” he muttered when the pair of idiots turned from where they were in line at an outdoor café window for coffee.

  One gave him an evil smile and nudged the other one.

  He inwardly rolled his eyes and stepped up, hoping that the other eyewitnesses would stop them from being total assholes.

  “Pretty brave without your bodyguards,” one said.

  He shrugged. “Do I need to be? Are you going to be assholes or can we agree to be cool?”

  “Oh, we’re cool. It’s you who kicked us out.”

  “You were rude to me and my woman. You’d do the same thing.”

  “Yeah, for my woman. But Olivia the Giver isn’t your woman. She’s a whore.”

  Red flashed in front of his vision at his words and at his total shock at hearing his Olivia called a whore. Until that moment, he’d suspected his little innocent nurse was a virgin. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  One of the guys held out a hand and covered his laugh. “Oh, shit, man. He doesn’t know.”

  Drew narrowed his eyes. “What don’t I know?”

  Dumb and Dumber looked at each other, each smirking as if they held the secret to solving world peace and erectile dysfunction. He was going to dysfunction them up if they didn’t stop giggling and start talking.

  “Your girl was the school slut back in high school.”

  “Excuse me?” He started to walk away because what they said didn’t make sense.

  “It’s true. We called her Olivia the Giver because she gave blow jobs to half the football team.” He stopped walking and looked at them.

  “You’re fucking wrong,” he told them. Walk away. It shouldn’t matter whether she’d done the whole football team and the cheerleaders. That was then, and Drew knew her now. Except now, she was so holier than thou accusing him of being the town slut, when she was cut from the same cloth. How dare she judge him?

  “Verdad, bro. My older brother was her year. He told me all about her.”

  “Yeah, well, high school was a long time ago,” he said. “Grow up.” He turned and walked away, almost wishing they’d follow him to start a fight, because he felt like punching something. Unfortunately, they didn’t get the memo and they let him go back to his club in a stupor.

  He got back and headed straight for the bar. He didn’t wait for Carlos to hit him with his favorite beer. Instead he climbed back and started pouring shots. Amber, one of his bartenders, glared at him, then backed off when she correctly read the expression on his face. When he had three glasses lined up, he did one after the other.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Amber asked sardonically. “Did your date actually reject you? Is that why you’re doing shots? Because you don’t know how to handle it when the shoe’s on the other foot?”

  He looked at her with a glass half-way to his lips. What the hell? He and his newest bartender had been like oil and water since day one, but Ian had pushed for hiring her. She was pretty and made a hell of a mixed drink. They’d traded barbs before, but never with actual sting to them. Tonight Amber was going for blood.

  Luckily for her, Carlos noticed what was going on. In the kind of mood he was in, he’d rashly fire Amber.

  “Whoa. What the hell, Drew?” Carlos hurried over from the other side of the bar where he’d been taking orders from a group of sorority women from the University of Miami who were here celebrating a sister’s twenty-first birthday. He gave Amber a gentle push, sending her back to cover the side of the bar he’d abandoned.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Carlos. Sometimes a guy wants to do shots. Go back to the sorority.”

  “Uh-uh.” Carlos grabbed the bottle of tequila. “This isn’t even your drink of choice. That’s how I know something is wrong. I’m calling Ian.”

  He slammed the shot glass on the bar, making the two closest people jump and give him dirty looks. “Don’t fucking call Ian.”

  “Fine.” Then Carlos became his enemy by using his dirtiest trick. “I’m calling Cat.”

  “Fuck you,” Drew said, the alcohol already hitting him.

  “I’ll ignore that, because I know you’re pissed about something. Might it have to do with the nurse you escorted out of the club not too long ago? What happened? You were dancing, and then she was gone.”

  Drew got in Carlos’s face. “None of your damn business.”

  Carlos remained outwardly cool. “It is when you’re back here messing up my bar and drinking top shelf shit. I don’t give a fuck if you own the tequila. Back here, it’s mine.”

  “I can fire you,” he threatened, trying and failing for the bottle in Carlos’s hand. He pretended to give up, then feinted right then left and grabbed the Ketel One off the shelf.

  “You could,” Carlos agreed and opened his arms wide, gesturing to the packed club and even more crowded bar area. “But then you’d be leaving Amber to deal with all these customers alone. That’s not good business.”

  He ignored his bartender because he had a valid point. Amber, was still technically a new hire. She was a great mixologist, but she wasn’t good at handling crowds if they got rowdy or impatient. That was Carlos’s area of expertise.

  The alcohol started its dance through his system, which was why it seemed like a good idea to text Olivia. We need to talk. Call me?

  No answer. She was probably still driving, and he had some vodka to down.

  One shot or one hundred shots later—who the fuck knew—he was slumped on a bar stool. Dimly he was aware of Carlos hanging out nearby, ready to catch him.

  “Drew?”

  Shit. A tiny blonde was over in his business.

  “’Sup, Cat?”

  She wedged herself between him and the bar. “Rough night?”

  “Nah. Felt like getting drunk.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Jesus. What was with women and them thinking you wanted to talk about shit? If he’d wanted to talk about it, he would’ve talked. Obviously he wanted to drink. He rose, or rather, he attempted to rise and caught himself on the bar, using it as a crutch. “Need to piss.” He headed not to his office where he and Ian shared a private employee restroom, but to the back of the club where a line was formed for the public bathroom.

  He pushed his way past the line. “Scuse me. My bathroom.” He entered, found a urinal and concluded his business. When he stumbled out of the bathroom, he walked right into a group of women. “Ladies.” Why did Cat think he was drunk? He was barely slurring his words. “Who wants VIP?”

  He was
an instant hero. Three of the women hooked their arms around his elbows and practically dragged him to the roped off area reserved for celebrities and other important patrons. He scooted into the center of a booth and all five of the women piled in after him making him feel as if he were the jelly in a sandwich.

  The women on his left and right were pressed tight against him, and he suspected one was rubbing her boobs against his arm.

  “I’m Selina,” she practically purred.

  “Drew.”

  “I know,” she said. “You own this place. I come here all the time. It’s the best bar in Miami.”

  “Thanks.” Dammit, if it were the best bar, he’d have a drink already. He waved a hand at a waitress walking by.

  She came over but shook her head. “Sorry, Drew. Ian cut you off.”

  He tried to rise, but the table and his female hangers-on stopped him. “Goddammit,” he muttered.

  “It’s okay, Drew. We can talk,” Selina said.

  He looked over at her as if she had two heads. He didn’t want to talk to her. There was one person he wanted –needed—to talk to, but she wasn’t answering his text. He pulled out his phone and laid it on the table in unlocked mode, so he’d see it immediately when Olivia texted him back.

  Around the table, the women chattered and sipped at their drinks, but none of their words penetrated and it didn’t matter. They were warm bodies keeping him from looking like a loser alone at a bar.

  Two months ago, he would’ve already had confirmed plans with at least one, maybe two of the women for later that night. Maybe he should do that anyway. Olivia had rejected his offer to be the man he thought she needed. She’d offered a no-strings party, and from what he’d heard tonight, she was an expert at no-strings parties.

  He started eyeing the women around him with more interest. Selina was the closest and seemed the most interested. He complimented her earrings, which was a typical line for him. For some reason, women liked to talk about their jewelry and its origins.

  Turned out, Selina was a jewelry designer and had a booth at the Coconut Grove art festival. He feigned interest as she went off into the competitive nature and how hard it was to get her jewelry sold at traditional stores.

  He mentioned he was friends with the women who owned CFA, a high-end boutique in South Miami. Her eyes grew wide, and she practically jumped in his lap.

  “I love that store!” She gripped his arm. “You have to get me in there. Here. I’m programming my number into your phone.” She swiped his phone off the table and hit some numbers into it, then held it up and announced, “Selfie.”

  He was drunk enough to smile and pose.

  “Now you’ll remember me.”

  “Uh huh.” He’d already forgotten her, because his phone lit up with an incoming text from Olivia. He grabbed it and held it close to his face with both hands.

  Going to bed. Talk tomorrow?

  He looked around the throbbing club, wishing she were still here. K.

  In his drunken haze, he hit a few more things with clumsy fingers then realized he’d texted her the selfie the chick next to him had taken. “Shit.”

  He held his breath and waited for her response. What was she going to think of the photo? It literally meant nothing, but she might not see it that way.

  The three grey dots indicating she was typing blinked, disappeared then blinked again. Finally a message appeared.

  1 day

  Huh? One day? What did that mean? He sent her a line of question marks. He waited a very long time for her response.

  U asked if we could have a future. It only took 1 day b4 u r with another woman.

  He groaned and all the women at the table looked at him. He started to push his way out of the booth, not waiting for them to scoot. He had to go call her. Finally, he was alone in his office and dialed her number.

  She answered with no preliminaries. “Drew, I’m going to sleep. Call me tomorrow.”

  “No. I want to talk now.”

  There was a silence. “Are you drunk?”

  “No. Maybe.”

  “Drew.” She audibly sighed. “Call me in the morning.”

  “That girl grabbed my phone. Nothing happened.” Even in his drunken state, he winced at how lame his excuse was.

  Olivia didn’t answer. He was about to beg her to stay on the line talking to him because he had so many questions about why she was considered slutty in high school but was practically a nun now, but there was a knock on the office door, and Cat popped her head in looking for him.

  “What?” he practically growled at her.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but your dad’s here. At least I think he’s your dad. There’s a guy out front who looks like your older brother.”

  “My dad’s here?” He automatically rose, worried something was wrong, because his father hadn’t called to tell him he was coming. He held the phone to his lips. “Olivia, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She must’ve overheard enough of the conversation because she suddenly sounded worried. “Is everything okay, Drew? Do you need me to drive back?”

  Jesus, she was a nice person. She thought he was a total player and still was prepared to turn right around and drive back to assist him because she cared. “No, it’s fine. Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow. But thank you for the offer.”

  “Remember it’s my day off. Your mother has dialysis at eleven. Drop her in front, then go park in lot C.”

  “I’ve got it, Olivia. I can handle it.” Shit, he’d forgotten it was her day off and he was on Mom duty. Doing shots until he was shwasted hadn’t been the best idea. But it hadn’t been the worst, because now he was amply prepared for anything his father threw his way.

  Except he wasn’t prepared for heading out to the floor to see his father at the table he’d recently vacated, surrounded by Selina and crew.

  “Dad?”

  His father rose. “Drew. Good to see you.”

  He looked as hale and hearty as ever. “What are you doing here?”

  Dad came over to clap him on the back and use the opportunity to whisper in his ear, “Call me Andrew. These girls don’t need to know I’m old enough to be your father.”

  He pulled back. “But you are my father, and those women are young enough to be your daughters.”

  His dad laughed and almost rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I know. Isn’t it great?” He went to sit back down in the booth and pulled Drew along.

  The alcohol buzz started waning as he watched his dad flirt with women half his age. For the first time ever he didn’t think it was hilarious his dad was at his club seeking a woman for sex. He’d admired his dad for being the coolest dad around, but it wasn’t so cool when his mom was living in his apartment needing a lot of care and her husband was out sleeping around.

  True, they were divorced, but that hadn’t been his mother’s call. Andrew Weaver was the love of her life. Unfortunately for her, he didn’t reciprocate the feeling, at least not for the long haul.

  He glanced at the clock on his phone and saw it was only midnight. He had hours to go until he could sleep.

  “Right, Drew?” His father interrupted his reverie, punching him gently on the arm.

  “Huh?” He’d missed whatever outrageous thing his father had said to impress the women. Suddenly solitaire on his office computer was sounding more and more appealing. That was a first. His normal MO was to be the center of the action at his own club. What was the point of owning a bar if you weren’t going to party there?

  He rose and pushed his way out of the booth. “Ladies, Dad,” he said the last pointedly not falling into line with his father’s wishes to not call attention to the fact that Andrew was older than he wished. “I have work to do. Have fun tonight. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

  Selina smiled at him. “Want company? I could make your work more fun.”

  Last week he would’ve smiled back and held out a hand. No man would turn down a blow job under his desk
. Except for him. Tonight. “Thanks for the offer, but I need to concentrate.”

  He made it a few feet from the table when his dad caught up. “Drew what’s the matter with you? That girl was offering all sorts of fun.”

  “I know what she was offering, Dad.”

  “Then why didn’t you take it?”

  “Because I’m not interested.”

  His father looked bewildered. “Of course you’re interested. That’s what we Weaver men love.”

  “We love random hook ups with faceless strangers?”

  “No strings, Drew. Nothing to tie you down. Love for nothing.”

  “But, Dad, love has a cost, and it’s worth paying.”

  Now Dad looked aghast. “Did you go and fall in love?”

  “No,” he said immediately without thinking about whether his statement was true.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, because it won’t stick. Love doesn’t. You’ll get it out of your system then need to move on.”

  “Is that what Mom was to you? Something to get out of your system then move on?”

  “Your mom knew the deal. She knew who and what I was before I married her.”

  “Did she, Dad? Speaking of Mom, she’s living with me now.”

  His dad visibly shuddered. “No wonder you’re off your game tonight. Living with that woman would cool anyone down.”

  “She’s sick,” he interrupted, hoping to get a rise or any emotion from his father. Instead he got indifference.

  “Are you saying I need to find a hotel room, Drew?”

  He swallowed back the sudden urge to hit his father. Not one question or inquiry into his mother’s health or his own mental state in having to care for a sick parent. “I can sleep on the couch. You can take my room for a night or two,” he offered.

  “But Karen would be there,” Dad confirmed.

  “Yes, as she lives with me now.”

  His dad glanced at his watch. “Probably too late to get a hotel room tonight. So I’ll deal with it for a night.”

  He didn’t respond, because his words wouldn’t have been nice to a man he’d always loved and admired. Tonight he was getting his first glimpse behind the curtain. No. That wasn’t true. The curtain had always been pulled back on Andrew Weaver. It was his son who’d persisted in seeing him through rose-colored glasses.